Trolleys of Fire
by FoodILiek
Summary: Alice arrived with her trolley in hand and her head held high. And thus, the weekly tournament would begin. AU Crack.


Warning: CRACK, pure crack.  
Why? Because it's 12 o'clock at midnight and tomorrow is Monday. I am _such_ a rebel.  
I'm not even sure what compelled me to do this, I was literally about to fall asleep and my mind just said 'Hey, won't it be fun to write a _trolley _related story in !the middle of the night?!'

Great! Now I'm hungry.

* * *

Alice had arrived with her trolley in hand and her head held high. And thus, the weekly tournament would begin.

Everybody stood outside of the Grocery store, staring at the contents - mainly the sack of potatoes that had a half price discount - that were displayed neatly in the windows with a predatory gaze. Nearby, they hired street musicians to play 'Ride of the Valkyries' to further intensify their burning flames of youth that would help fry their sausages of determination. Their eyes passionately expressing their emotions, competitiveness flaring as the noise in the streets began drowning out. They could feel their blood pumping, rushing around their bodies as their adrenaline gave them a high. It was an exhilarating experience, particularly for the man named Ace Knight, last week's Grocery shopping champion.  
Their gazes shifted to each other, calculating and sizing up their opponents - much like a person would do when creating a beautiful sandwich and looking at all its components to check that they were perfect - trying to predict each movement and developing possible counter attacks. It was a tricky game - one that would more than likely end up with some spilled milk - but that was a small sacrifice that would assist them in bringing home the prized cup.  
Hence, they waited in anticipation - while some in aggravation - until the glass doors would open and pave their way to the addicting burger that was victory.  
From an outsider's point of view, they would find a row adults littered around the entrance of Malwart, wearing odd costumes and gripping onto large empty trolleys that had various designs stuck on with packing tape - some more abysmal-looking than others. However, this was more than the common hula bula jam spinach, this was their BigWac with French fries on the side, their Family bucket of chicken wings delightfully complimented with gravy. To put it simply; this was their pride and joy.  
The referee stood to the side of the entrance - wary not to be too close less the hyenas were to accidentally involve him - with his trusted whistle in his rough hands. He remembered the first time he got pulled into this strawberry milkshake; he was minding his own business, sitting on the streets counting his fingers - he got up to eleven - when these unorthodox creatures approached him with money in one hand and a small blue whistle trapped in the other; he remembers it clearly. Yes, that was he day he met his soul mate. Never had he parted with her from that day onwards, when she was handed to him like a lollipop to a child, he made a vow never to leave her, to always protect her until the day he died. Marian, that was he name he gave her. He held her tightly in his hand as he recalled the memory. Looking down to gaze at her blueness, he marvelled at how beautiful she was: her sleek, slender form that curved ever so slightly, the way she shone in the light. It was all her. His precious Marian. His precious whistle.  
And as the toothless referee stared at his six-fingered hand in wonder, the contestants rapidly shook their heads - to cleanse themselves of the effects of waking up at five in the morning on Saturday - and began exercising. This would pose as a challenge and the needed to be alert, steady, _ready._  
As the nearby bell rang in its somber fashion - it had such pessimism - the employees of the market began shuffling their way to the entrance.  
As they approached the doors, their eyes opened wide in alarm, shock and horror. Their dark pupils shaking slightly like a slightly shaking olive and the reds of their eyes - the results of staying up late like big boys an girls partying and then waking up at nine in the morning on a Saturday - spreading from the edges of their eyelids like a ketchup disease.  
Why had they been so _foolish_ as to not get a restraining order for these people? There had been many occurrences in which they had heard stories of 'The Infamous Grocery Store Raiders' but it was all so farfetched. It seemed more like a fable, _a myth_ than anything else.  
And so here they were, unlocking the doors and ultimately unlocking the gates of hell. Their impending doom awaited them and they could do nothing about it. They must open up. For where will the beloved customers go?

The bell rang sombrely as the employees sombrely opened up the glass doors. It was inevitable.

And then all hell ran loose.

* * *

Goodness me. I guess this was just some midnight practice of something. Welp, I'ma go ta sleep. Thanks for taking the time to read and soz for mistakes. Point them out to me if you have the time. Thank you. G'night.


End file.
